


Complex defects & the Pure that Lure

by Tav



Category: Inception (2010) RPF
Genre: Cock Tease, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tav/pseuds/Tav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom is very straight and absolutely not obsessed with 12 year old Joe. No, he is obsessed with wrecking the little guy. Who cares if Joe is his new friends little step brother? Joe is an untainted white canvas that he's dying to ink red. And so he does.<br/>But what happens years later when Joe is a man, and a little taller than him and standing at his doorstep? Who will be wrecking who then?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, its my first time posting here. Be kind. Love me. I'm sure I will love you.... *checks with mods if we're allowed to lie on this site* ......... 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. It was just an idea I've had for a while and decided to write and post. Unedited alert!
> 
> Really not sure if I've done this correctly... only one way to find out.... Oh, also, I SUCK at summaries so..... *weeps deeply in corner*

There was something so undeniably pure about him that made me want to taint him entirely. 

I grew up in a house full of brothers. I was the youngest of four with a five year gap between them, so I naturally became the walking punching bag. I was always alert. Waiting for a blow. Or a less than friendly headlock. Any attack really. And I started not bothering reporting it to my father because that usually just landed me a smack over the head for being a pussy. 

School wasn't all that different either. Which is why when I turned seventeen and got the opportunity to be that years bursary exchange student in America, I didn't miss leaving it all. 

And so I moved in with the MacArthur family. A nicer than nice family who hosted people in situations such as mine. And although Leo MacArthur was well dressed and proper on our initial first meeting with the family, the second his father and step mother left us to our own demise, it was painfully clear that he was a naughty shit. Painfully clear that I was going to get along with him. We had more things in common than just our age and so after dinner, we spent the night on the roof getting high and talking about absolutely nothing. 

Leo’s mother was an artist. A hardcore, hippy artist who dressed the part and braided her hair. I didn't put it past her knowing we were smoking and not caring. His step father ran a non-profit charity organization and took on a no-nonsense attitude, but he too was the type of goofy that gave allowance enough for me not to feel the need to walk on eggshells. Nothing at all like my family. 

Leo spoke fondly of his stepbrother who I had yet to meet. His stepbrother who was five years younger than him, far too intelligent for his age and away for two weeks participating in some school music festival. He played the violin and spoke several different languages –just because. He sounded pompous and uninteresting but still, any change would be a nice change from my own brothers. 

And then I saw him. I still remember the day. 

I was in the fairly abandoned tool shed out in the back yard. Passing a wacky backy between Leo and myself. Being up to no good more out of mandatory status than necessity. Lungs burning, head starting to swim in a delightful haze of fuzzy oblivion. And then I made the mistake of peeking out the high tool shed window. Dutifully making sure none of Leo’s parents were on the back porch. Because the MacArthur’s actually did painfully unnecessary things like spending time reading or painting on the porch when the weather was just right and chores were all done.  
And then I saw him. 

And the light sort of seemed to stream frustratingly through the gaps in the trees above. Like cruel lighting touching just the right spots on his young face. And he was completely oblivious to his inebriated audience. And he walked through the trees with his hand skimming through the bushes, caressing the flowers, smiling ever so softly at the beauty in the plants that paled in comparison to the beauty of the boy caressing their petals. 

And I honestly thought my mind was fooling me, making up humanistic fantasies that had no way of existing in the real world. Fairies that only existed in bad fantasy books. And I had never been so insanely turned on, fascinated, terrified all at the same time, not that much. 

And then our eyes met, and the boy’s smile fell away. And he stopped touching the flowers. Stopped all together and just looked me in the eye as if he too was caught completely, beautifully off guard. 

“Looks like Joe is back,” Leo said, genuine happiness laced in his slurred tone. And I only just noticed he too was looking out the window. And I was ashamed to admit that I had completely forgotten his existence. I had been seconds away from running my hand over the bulge aching for attention in my suddenly too tight jeans. “Let me introduce you guys.” 

And right then, after shaking his hand, the fixation to taint him was born. 

I soon learned many things about him. Like the fact that his skin, unlike mine, was completely void of scars. Because when Leo and I sat on the patio with borrowed beers because we were too cool to swim, he would do laps, alone, in practically nothing. Making his shoulder length black hair frame in waves around his face. Against his neck. Wetting his lashes as he blinked water out of his eyes. Soaking his pink lips. I would sit behind dark shades and pretend I was listening to Leo. Trying desperately to hold my end of conversation as I stole Joseph’s private pool time for later, when I could be alone, with my cock in my hand. 

And he knew I was watching him. His eyes would always dart to mine. Be it in the kitchen while we made sandwiches and he sat on the counter, legs dangling off the edge. Distracting. Because they we toned and a darker shade than his chest and completely, seemingly void of any hair. And I was reminded of his youth. And I knew I had to feel guilty for lusting after a twelve year old boy. My best friends step brother. I should have felt guilty but I didn't because there was always a wave of something that made it feel as though he was torturing me on purpose. Because nobody had the right to be that bloody adorable all the time. 

Joe didn't say much, he was a boy of few words. Always in deep thought. A few too little smiles. Hardly ever laughing. But when he did smile, genuinely, his already small eyes would shrink and sparkle. His mouth would stretch wide, high cheek bones redden, dimples would kill me. And if I was the one lucky enough to elicit that grin, his eyes would stay on me for a moment longer than they did on his mother. His stepfather. Leo. 

And just when I thought I couldn't die from wanting him any more than I already did, he stepped into the bathroom while I was innocently brushing my teeth. Possibly the most innocent task that I did daily. Twice. And he walked in and wrecked it. Because he made sure our eyes met in the mirror as I stood there, stupidly, in stupid boxer shorts, mouth full of toothpaste. Dripping down the sides of my mouth as if I was honestly drooling. And Joseph dropped his towel. And entered the tub as if he wasn't entirely naked in front of someone who might possibly be the most dangerous person to be that vulnerable around. And he started the shower. And he didn't close the curtain. 

My eyes darted to the door that was closed but not locked. The house wasn't empty. Leo lying on the bed, throwing a tennis ball against the ceiling in an annoying way that had his father yelling threats at him from the kitchen. His mother laughing from the living room because she honestly found most things funny that other mothers usually wouldn't. And I just stood there, completely lost as trails of shampoo slid down his shoulders, down his back, between the crack of his ass. And I wanted to touch him; I had never wanted something so badly in my life. 

“Thomas, please take the ball away from my son!” it was shouted from the kitchen but felt as though it was right beside me. Too loud, ringing with anger that wasn't even directed at me. But I was guilty enough to claim it because I had honestly been seconds away from doing something with his other son’s balls. 

“Yes, sir,” I shouted, far too guiltily, rinsing my mouth and washing my toothbrush. And then he moaned, and looked over his shoulder at me. And I realized I had affected the temperature of the shower. And an apology had been on the tip of my tongue, but dammit, the little shit didn't deserve it. Because I was the one who was getting wrecked when all I wanted to do was wreck him. And I nearly tripped over my socked feet as I stalked out the bathroom, determined to take my anger out on Leo’s tennis ball. I would grab it and throw it out the window and then bury myself under the covers. And skip supper, and blame it on my not feeling well. Because there was no way of sitting at the family table with the thoughts I had swimming around in my head. Making my legs shake and cock leak and ache and hate me. 

But I made up my mind that night in the late hours when we were all supposed to be asleep. Leo snoring on the bunk above Joseph’s, oblivious to what I was about to do. To try. Because even in the darkness I could feel Joe's eyes on me. Faking innocence, heat pounding between the few steps between him and my single bed on the other side of the room. So I pulled my duvet off and my boxers down. My eyes never leaving him and his eyes never leaving my hand as I started stroking my erection. And it was almost too painful above that initial feeling of fire building, pleasure, rising. And my hand was shaky as I sped up and stroked harder and faster. And then his duvet began to move as well, slow up and down tents making me know exactly what was happening under the blankets. And it only took a few moments, hitting me like a brick to the back of my head as the orgasm was punched out of me so hard that I actually growled. 

And when I came to and stars started disappearing and world stopped spinning. And when I looked over at him he was completely under the covers with his back towards me. Lifelessly still, leaving me to wonder if I had imagined the whole thing. If my mind was honestly getting screwed up with my need to touch him. And I hated him so much. And I wanted to destroy him even more. And I decided, then and there that the week would not end without me doing just that.

“ What’s the acronym for Spermatozoa?” he asked, nonchalantly. And I snapped. Because he was hunched over the kitchen counter, chewing on the back of a pen with a crossword puzzled opened up in front of him. And we weren't alone in the house but we were alone in the kitchen, and that was enough for me. The video game would keep Leo busy enough, the canvas would keep his mother busy long enough and as long as the lawn mower was busy roaring outside, his father would be kept busy enough. “Its five letters.” 

And he didn't even look up at me when I approached him. Though the twitch of his jaw made me know my presence was well known. He didn't even spare me a glance as I pushed my cock up against his denim covered arse and gripped his hips. But when he reached up to push long fallen locks behind his ear I noticed that his ears were bright red. Too red for him to be unaffected as pulled him hard against me. Humped him like the desperate animal I felt like. And when I reached around to the front of his pants, he was too hard to be unaffected. 

But it still wasn't sufficient, and so I yanked his hair enough to expose his long, smooth neck. And his eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted and I somehow managed to get his fly open with one shaky hand. Managed to let go of him long enough to pull his tight jeans down around his thighs. Pull down my own shorts, shudder as my leaking cock slid between his cheeks. And he dropped his head and braced himself on shaky elbows on the counter. And the pen clattered to the floor as I pushed my cock head hard against his hole. Warning him of what I could so easily take if he insisted on being such a fucked up, fucking beautiful, fucking tease. And he shook noticeably when I abandoned the pressure against his –wouldn't be shocked if he wasn't a virgin- hole and started thrusting frantically between his legs. Because I wanted to torture him but I was pressed for time,  
And when I mindlessly reached forward to take his cock into my hand, it was just in time to feel the thud in the base before wetness seeped over my fingers, onto the counters cupboard, something I’d only come to notice a little later since my own climax was reached and the frantic thrusting became more of a stutter and I came between his legs, against his tait. Adding to the mess he’d already made. Panting hard against the nape of his neck, nose buried into the hair there. Mindlessly wiping my hand clean on the front of his t-shirt.  
And when I found the strength to step away he remained like that. And I felt my cock twitch at the site of him. Looking wrecked and used and –could it be- tainted.  
“Sperm,” I mumbled as I pulled up my pants already planning which route I’d have to take in order to avoid the family long enough to get myself cleaned up. “The five letter words is sperm.” 

And I left him there like that. And he didn't say anything, and he didn't straighten himself up, even long after I was out the kitchen and wondering what I’d just done. 

And my desire to wreck him turned into guilt, unadulterated guilt when I heard that he left town that very night to move back in with his biological father. 

I haven’t seen him since that day. I thought I never would again. Yet here he is, standing at my door, ten years later looking all grown up yet helplessly youthful. Large ears sticking out, hair noticeably shortened even under the hoodie. Jaw unshaven, shoulders squared, actually taller than me. 

I had honestly wished I’d never have to see him again.  



	2. Chapter 2

Joseph. Joseph MacArthur standing in my kitchen. Drinking my milk from the carton, wincing, putting the box to his nose before dumping it in my trashcan. 

Joseph MacArthur, going for orange juice instead. Finding it suitable enough before making his way to my couch and folding his feet on my coffee table. Joe looking over my bare chest with a mixture of confusion and amusement as he licks chilled drops of citrus off his bottom lip. 

“Were you always so decorated?” he points a finger in my upper-body’s general direction. 

“I’ve had some work done over the years,” I respond carefully. Mind still muddled from being woken up at – two o’clock in the bloody morning. “I’m sorry, what the natural fuck do you think you’re doing here?” 

Joe scoffs as if I’m the one being unreasonable for even enquiring such. His sneaker is folding the corner of my magazine and so I nudge his feet down with my knee. Then I realize that I’m only wearing boxer briefs, feeling oddly annoyed by the situation. Joe sits forward and pages through the magazine with what can only be described a fake interest. 

Over the years, I’ve tried. Tried so hard to forget Joseph. But memories of him still managed to win the fight. Far too often. 

This Joe is nothing at all like the one I remember, I gather as he smirks down at a page. God, the dimples, the dimples haven’t changed at all. But everything else has. He’s not at all the mysterious ball of tiny wonder, delicate in that twisted and dangerous way. Pretty and proper and untouchable. He's a young man, smug and secure and looking every bit as though he knows exactly what he wants. 

"I decided to come down here and right a terrible wrong that concerns both you and me." 

I wince. Not a night has gone by without the image of Joe, trapped beneath me. The vulnerability I evoked with every thrust that's still vivid enough to make my toes curl. Joe grins again at a particular page in the magazine before holding it up for me to see.

“I wonder,” his smile is completely malicious and I actually feel something tug in my chest, “are you still so good at crossword puzzles?”

“If you’ve come looking for an apology for-”

"For what?" Joe looks up at me pointedly. The kind of stern that is blank yet challenging at the same time. "What could you have done that requires an apology, Tommy?" 

"Tom," her voice is small, tired and concerned and effectively grabs both of our attention. Marion pulls her night gown tightly around her slender form when she realizes we have a visitor. From the look that flashes over Joseph's face as realization strikes is enough to make me well aware that Joe is currently more of an intruder. "What's going on?" 

“Go back to bed, love,” I don’t think twice before taking the five steps needed in three. Anything to deflate the potential disaster that’s dripping freely in the curve of Joseph’s lips. “I’ll be there in a second.” 

And even with the door closed and my wife safely on the other side of it, I’m well aware that all of this is far from over. 

“That’s odd,” Joe huffs a laugh, “I thought your preference was more along the lines of, oh I don’t know, twelve year old boys.” 

Even grabbing his arm and dragging him to the door have no effect on his laughter. He doesn’t even sober when I push him against said door. Choking on chortles. 

“Still rough I see.” 

“You don’t say a thing to anyone about what happened,” I bark lowly. And Joe is so close that his next fit of laughter hits my unshaven jaw. “I have worked too hard to build all this for myself and I will be damned if something that happened years ago which was as much your fault as it was mine-”

“Relax R. Kelly,” Joe rolls his eyes, “I’m not here to air your dirty laundry.” 

Then I repeat,” it’s supposed to be intimidating but he’s still all dimples, “what the natural fuck do you think you’re doing here?”

“I was deeply disturbed to discover that my brother has chosen you as his best man.” 

“I’m his best friend.” 

“He’s my brother.” 

“Step brother.” 

“Don’t you think you’ve come between me and Leo enough?”

“You left, Joseph,” I lose all composure and brace my hand on the door. Finally. Trapping him yet again. “ You left and wouldn’t take his calls or reply to his messages. You have no fucking idea how many nights I spent comforting him. Telling him it wasn’t his fault. Reassuring him that he isn’t useless at family. That he isn’t the reason his own mother then brother just left without a word.” 

“Don’t act like you were some sort of savior,” Joe’s sudden burst of temper reflects clearly in the vein that sprouts on his too flushed face. “I was a fucking child, Tom. I was confused and terrified of-”

“Terrified of what, Joseph? Of me?” I scoff. “Because it certainly didn’t seem that way when you were flaunting your little arse in my face every chance you got.” 

“Go to hell.”

“I’m sorry,” I throw my hands up in mock surrender. “If that’s what you want to hear so badly, I’m sorry for what happened.”

“I’m not,” he counters without thought and something of a smile returns to his face. And just like that, the way his eyes drop to my lips and his fingertip whisper over my bare torso. As if he’d been meaning to push me away but decided not to. Decided he liked what he felt. Just like that, as my eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his warm hand sliding over the betraying bulge in my underwear, I am instantly reminded of just how dangerous Joseph MacArthur really is. How dangerous he’s always been. 

“You’re a demented little fucker, you know that,” I snarl, grabbing his wrist with the hand that hasn’t somehow managed to curl around the nape of his neck with a mind of its own. A desperate act of reminiscing just how soft the hair there felt as I held him face down on the countertop. 

“I had practice at a really young age.”

“Haven’t you grown out of these little games?” 

“I’m not here to play games,” Joseph whispers against my cheek and the tiny huff he takes when I push him further into the door does unimaginable things to my psyche. And now, now our bodies align perfectly; his slightly smaller with a certain touch of youth that has refused to go away. But he smells all male. And it draws me in and rips resolve apart and I honestly find myself yearning, thirsting to finish off exactly what he started all those years ago. But finish it properly this time. Finish him. “I’m here to be my brother’s best man.” 

“I already am,” it sort of breaks when it leaves my lips because my earlobe is getting damp between his. 

“And now he has two.” And I only stumble back because the shove was entirely unpredictable and unnecessarily hard. And he’s opening the door before I can refuse to share this role with him because the man is entirely insane. And dangerous. And still has the capability of accessing every bit of myself that I have tried to repress for so many years. With just one smile. One touch. The sound of his voice. “We hit the tailor first thing in the morning. I will text you the details. And do me a favor, wear some pants.” 

And then he’s gone. 

He’s gone and back all at once.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re fucking late,” Leo fails miserably coming off even slightly intimidating with no pants on. “I hope this isn’t a reflection of how it’s gonna be on my wedding day.”

 

“If you must know, princess,” I drop myself down on a vacant couch and nurse my coffee, “I just spent the last hour driving around Brooklyn looking for Swanton’s Tailors that –thanks to a rather handsy homeless man with one tooth –I find out, does not exist anymore.”

 

“Swanton’s Tailors on 16th?” Lukas sniggers. “Wait, that’s a drug ridden whore house now?”

 

“Yes,” I grit out. And not just because Lukas’ gumshoe status makes him know everything about everything doge in every part of nearly every town around. I still fail to see how the most delinquent of our friends fell into law enforcement. “Yes it is.” 

 

“I don’t know why I bothered with a schedule if you don’t care to stick to it,” Cillian drawls. On any other day, honestly, I would be thrilled to see Murphy kneeling down in front of Leo. Yellow tape lined down the imaginary inseam of what is soon to be Leo’s trousers. But now, my head is pounding. And my shoulders are tense. And even Lukas is all suited up and lacking tardiness. Lukas, the man who would be late for his own funeral.

 

A funeral that can easily be moved a lot closer if Lukas doesn’t stop finding amusement with my inability to contain desolation.

 

It has been like this for years. Lukas, the annoying twat who finds raw joy in how awful I look when I haven’t had my full eight hours of sleep. Cillian, the ever efficient twat who is comfortable enough with himself that he honestly became a seamster regardless of how much hell we gave him for being a vagina. Dileep, the twat who has a private practice yet refuses to dish out prescriptions without thorough examination which often involves stripping down to our birthday suits. Because that is completely mandatory, even for a cough. And Leo, the twat that effortlessly cements us all together.    

 

“I was led to believe that we were changing tailors,” I say honestly albeit feeling more and more stupid by the second. Because Leo loves Cillians work. He loves the little store and the flavored coffee and the well put together young ladies who keep it coming.  

 

“What the devil gave you that idea?” Dileep is fixing his bowtie in the mirror. And as if right on cue, Joseph comes out from behind a curtain. Fixing his cufflinks. Hair slicked back. Black suit tailored to perfection. Cleanly shaven. Utter faultlessness.  Like every single protagonist from every wet dream I’ve ever had has suddenly been personified, shoved into one man and given the name Joseph.

 

“Speak of the devil,” I mutter. Because ‘A’ Grade dimples or no, his smile is still pure evil.   

 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Leo has left a slightly annoyed looking Cillian. But Cillian’s annoyance is short-lived and soon even his smile is as big as Leo’s as Leo drags me out of the recliner. Coaxes me towards Joseph who dutifully covers the distance I can’t seem to manage. And then Joe is in my arms and I muster up everything inside me to forge a smile. Because everyone else is smiling and chuckling and marveling at what they assume is a worthwhile reunion. And Joe is snickering and rattling on about how it’s been years. And how big I’ve gotten. And I feel rather rustic in torn jeans and a plain grey t-shirt while in the arms of Armanied sex on legs. And then I hear it whispered so softly against my ear that it threatens nonexistence –

 

“Just play along and I won’t make your life a living hell.”

 

“Can you believe it?” Leo is beaming. A hand on both of our shoulders the moment we break apart. Looking from Joseph to me as if he’s finally connected the last two missing pieces to a puzzle he’s been trying to complete for years.  “I never thought I’d see this day.”

 

“Nor did I, my friend,” Joseph doesn’t flinch when I reach out to pat his cheek. Attitude unwavering even though I’m certain that he too is inwardly seething. More so when I take his chin in my hand as if for further inspection. “My god, but you’ve grown.”

 

“You seem disappointed,” he retorts. And my smile falters but does not fall away. And Leo is beaming and it makes for a much needed reminder that Joseph is not powerful enough to ruin my life with one cleverly disguised quip.

 

“So I know it’s sudden,” Leo suddenly has all his attention aimed at me. Pulling that face that makes heavy lines decorate his forehead and eyebrows touch his hairline. “And this doesn’t take anything away from you. But I was talking to Joey about it yesterday and we thought it would be pretty cool if you were both my best men. Together.”

 

“But like I said,” Joe interrupts me before I even think to speak, “If it’s any hassle at all, I don’t mind you doing the honors alone. I would hate to intrude.” 

 

“No,” I force my smile wider and feel my dry lips crack. With Joseph’s eyes on me I don’t dare lick them. “No, it isn’t a problem at all. That will be lovely.”

 

“I knew he wouldn’t mind,” Leo is patting Joseph’s back before returning to Cillian. No less enthusiastic. “This is gonna be great.”

 

“Marvelous,” I offer.

 

“Wonderful,” Joseph adds. And the bastard holds my gaze for moments too long. A length that threatens to disclose the tension pulsating between us. The kind of leer that reminds me of the younger him. The vertically challenged yet equally perilous him. The _him_ that persistently made me lose all self-control. The _him_ that bared potential of what mesmeric form he’d take as a man. And stayed true to its every promise.  “You should probably hurry up and get fitted. Mom’s expecting us in 3  hours.”

 

Then Joseph is loosening his bowtie and unfastening his top buttons. Exposing that long, smooth stretch of pale that rises only to the bump of his thyroid cartilage. Bouncing hypnotically when he swallows. Making me swallow down a potentially risky moan as he walks away. An act so small it has no right to make me feel the need to shift from foot to foot. And only when he’s ducked back behind the curtain and I can practically hear every thread of overly priced material slip from his skin. Only then do Joseph’s words truly sink in.

 

“Expecting _us_?” I frown, absently letting Cillian guide me to a mirror and hold up a tuxedo that matches all of theirs but Leo’s. When I look over my shoulder at Leo, he and Dileep are testing the stretch of their trousers. Doing the stupid dance we’re going to surprise everyone with at the wedding. Sure to terrify the children, make certain we all never get laid again and cause several heart attacks amongst the elderly guests with our inept mentally unstable boyband moves. This kind of punishment for one lost poker game still feels like cruel and unusual punishment. But the impending dance of doom is the least of my qualms.

 

“Yeah,” Leo grins, mastering a spin that should have taken no man that long to get the hang of. “The three of us are gonna drive up there, help dad with yard.”

 

And my heart stops in my throat. Because I’m all for staying the week at the MacArthur’s family home which was truly once too my own. I’m all for whacking the weeds and doing a lot of heavy lifting to transform their backyard into the future Mrs. MacArthur’s dream wedding reception. I’m all for eating Mrs. MacArthur’s poorly cooked meals that only go and stay down due to the fact that you know in your heart of hearts that they are truly made with love. Even being cramped in a small room with tiny single beds and terrible juvenile posters because the MacArthur’s haven’t had the heart to change a thing in the children’s room apart from the sheets and curtains every time the climate makes the air a bit too stale. 

 

Leo and I have done that tons of times over years past and I am all for it.

 

But I am certainly not up for doing all of this with Joseph MacArthur around.

 

“Isn’t the place a little small for three grown men,” I blurt before I can stop myself. Because my brain has honestly stopped working at the thought of being in that house with Joseph. In the bathroom with Joseph around. In the kitchen with Joseph beneath me. “I mean, I could get a motel.”

 

“You know mom would never let you do that,” Leo scoffs with a certain fondness that leaves me feeling trapped. Painfully claustrophobic. “Besides, it will be great. It will be just like old times.”  

 

“Just like old times,” I murmur as Joe steps out from behind the curtain. And I wonder how long I’ve been standing there like an idiot, because Joe’s jeans are now too tight and his t-shirt too childish and hair slightly out of place. And I wonder what demon he sold his soul to in order to attain the fountain of youth to bathe in shamelessly. Daily. Because in that light with that tiny smirk, eyes dark yet alive, he honestly does not look as though he’s aged a day.

“Just like old times,” Joseph puts his dimples on perverse exhibition.

 

And I’m certain I was in much safer company that morning at the drug ridden whore house with the handsy homeless man with one tooth. 

 

  

 

 

 

 


End file.
